They called it creeping. Chuuya would call it loving. It was the only way he knew how.

Filling out forms. Signing waivers. But always staying just outside her reach — hovering at the edge of her world like a moth orbiting a star.

In his mind, he already knew everything: Her mother’s maiden name. Her father’s laugh. Her first pet (a rabbit, white, named Miso). Her favorite restaurant — she always went on payday.

He knew she did her laundry on Sundays, separated her whites. He knew her car needed a new tire because he had laid those spikes last week.

He had a million polaroids, every one carefully labeled in red ink. A walkie-talkie planted in her room so he could listen to her breathe.

She didn’t know it yet, but they were in love. And one day, they’d have a beautiful wedding. She’d wear white. He’d be everything.

Forever. Never apart.

Oh, she didn’t know it yet — but he already had her heart.

Some would call it stalking. Chuuya preferred walking, just... extremely close behind.

He was certain that if he sat her down and explained, she’d understand. Maybe even smile at him.

She had eyes that drove him insane. And he had eyes that watched her sleep.

Always thirty steps behind. A shadow in the night. Phone in hand, blush on his cheeks as he zoomed in and whispered, “Perfect…”

He watched her toss her coffee cup into the trash. And the moment she turned the corner, he was there — plucking it out like a treasure, cradling it like something sacred as he tucked it into his bag.